Ode to the Minivan

(You can tell this one isn't mine on account of, it's clean. And it still has wheel covers)

My car has died. The once great and mighty white chariot-for-7 is gone. I would like to spend this time being crazily stressed out about what-the-heck-to-do-now, but I couldn't jump right into that without first reflecting on the many, many years and adventures we have had together, this minivan and I. The miles. The smiles. The tears. The screams. The spilled crockpot of chili. The melted crayons and endless chip crumbs and candy and wrappers. The bobby pins glued inside a cupholder by an inch of sticky brown soda like mosquitos trapped in amber. The memories: Like the time we had to pull over at midnight in the middle of nowhere because my 3-year old had stuck a tiny candy up her nose. Or the breakdown on the Hoover Dam overlook. (Me, not the car. Although, I did warn them it would happen if I had to pull over.) The soccer games. The camping trips. The carpooling. The late night interstate traveling. The wheel covers that were lost one. By one. By one. By one. The rattling window. The not-quite-enough-trunk-space that we always made work. It gave us the best and last years of its life, this car. I will miss it dearly.

To pay proper tribute, I would like to dedicate a song to my sad and broken-down Mercury Villager. Because when I am not making up slogans, I am often re-writing song lyrics. I do it compulsively, without even thinking about it. My kids LOVE it. At least, I think that's what they mean when they say, "Seriously Mom?? Can you please stop doing that!?" and "THAT'S NOT THE WORDS!!" I have given it some deep thought and considered such lyrical masterpieces as Air Supply's All Out of Love or The Beatles Yesterday or Pink's Please Don't Leave Me or Slipknot's Dead Memories. But I think the depth of emotion I am feeling rivals only that of my forlorn teen years. Which, obviously, means that only Erasure will do. I mean, they got me through my unrequited love for Ricky Schroder...and that was no easy task. 

So, I give you my musical serenade to my lovely van set to the tune of the immortal synthetic-pop anthem of heartbreak and lost love: Oh L'Amour.

Vill-a-ger

You won't start and now I'm aching for you

Vill-a-ger

What's a mom with kids supposed to do?

You drove me to work, you drove them to school

Thought that you'd always run, why was I such a fool?

Sure you smelled like old fries, that was no way to live

But I did change your oil; I thought you'd forgive

Vill-a-ger

After all of the trips we’ve been through

Vill-a-ger

What's a mom of four supposed to do?

Why throw it away? Why break down on us?

Won't you miss all my yelling, and hearing me cuss? 

Sure, the kids made a mess and were always a pain

But I treated you right, used the higher octane

Vill-a-ger

Like Interstellar, your engine it blew

Vill-a-ger

What's a mom whose broke supposed to do? 

I can't drive a small car, they'll kick the back of my seat

I might rip off their legs before we get down the street

Not to mention the noise while I'm trying to drive

I can't have them that close, we won't make it alive 

Vill-a-ger

You won’t start and now I'm aching for you

Vill-a-ger

What's a mom with kids supposed to do?

Sniffle. Sigh. I will miss that faithful minivan. Rest in peace, you wonderful little old car, you. You've earned it. On the bright side, now I don't have to worry about replacing the wiper blades. Or tires. Or that rattly window that I always intended to do something about. 

But now I have to start all over with some other car. And get used to all of its quirks and habits. And hope that it will give me as many good years as I got from my van.

I mean, don't tell the Villager, but there is this pretty little Honda Pilot I've got my eye on. And it does have 4-wheel drive...